


A Place Where Everyone Knows Your Name

by turnedherbrain



Series: The Prince of Kingham [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Humor, at least fairly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-04 07:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnedherbrain/pseuds/turnedherbrain
Summary: Merlin isn't partial to English country villages. He doesn't object to their existence - they just leave him exposed. Everyone knows everyone, and wants to know your name. And his name is a problem. Plus, there's the small matter of an enchantment.





	1. Blackwood Books

**Author's Note:**

> I'm reading 'Good Omens' by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman at the moment, so that's definitely an influence on this series :)

He wasn’t partial to English country villages. Tended to avoid them altogether, in fact. He didn’t object to their existence – particularly this one, with its low-gabled cottages built of appealing honeyed stone. It was more that they left him exposed. There were far fewer people, and everyone knew each other, and they wanted to know his name, and there was nowhere to hide.

No. After many, many years of wandering the world, he knew what he liked. Give him an anonymous, discreet hotel in a seedier area of a vastly populated city, and he’d be happy. He’d once told his name and purpose – his _real_ name and purpose – to a whole room-full of locals in a hotel bar in Bangkok. They’d laughed and carted him off to bed, thinking he was drunk.

But here he was. The village was called Kingham, and it nestled in a rather lovely dip of land in the north-eastern corner of the Cotswolds. Meadowfuls of cattle chewed happily on green grass, and the lanes were quiet and empty.

It was one such lane that he was walking down now, the hem of his long overcoat fluttering in the faint early evening breeze. And here was the shop – exactly how he’d pictured it. Blackwood Books: Antiquarian Book Dealers. The windows were made of milk-bottle thick glass that warped and distorted the interior.

The bell rang out a faint warning as he entered the shop. The female assistant was bent over a laptop behind a precarious pile of books, her pale face screwed up in concentration as she jabbed at a key repeatedly. She looked up as the customer entered.

“Hello! Feel free to browse. I’ll be with you in just a moment. I’m just having some… I.T. … support… issues.” To prove their point, the assistant punched the same key again, with seemingly no result. She sighed and added: “I don’t suppose you know anything about computers, do you?”

“No. I’m afraid I don’t,” he replied, thinking that he could get it working soon enough by using magic, but that might be inadvisable. Looking around, he immediately felt at home. Just the smell of old books, the gold leaf lettering that curled up their spines, the invitation to delve within those pages. It reminded him of a long ago time and a castle library.

The shop assistant sighed again, slammed down the laptop lid and looked up at her visitor properly. He was in his early twenties perhaps, but the way he carried himself suggested someone much older. “Well, that’s you and me both. I’m totally clueless. ‘404 error found’. What does that even mean?” He shrugged, and they both laughed. “Anyway – how can I help you? Are you looking for a specific title, or simply here to browse the stock?”

The man fished a slip of paper out of his coat pocket, holding it out to her by way of explanation. “Actually, I’ve come to pick up a book I ordered – on Old English runes? I rang yesterday.”

“Oh.” Said the woman. “Oh. It’s you. It really is you!”

“Yes,” he replied. “It’s me. Merlin.”

“It’s just… well… Mr Merlin. You’ll have to forgive me, but when you rang to make the order, well… I thought it was a joke. ‘Merlin’, buying a book on runes. I mean, I thought it was one of the lads from the village having me on. Soooo… I didn’t order it out of our warehouse. And now you’re actually here, and I’m so embarrassed, and you’re actually a Merlin, and I just never thought…”

Merlin held up his hand at a low angle, to stop her from making an even more profuse apology. “It’s OK. I get it all the time. Crazy name. People either need me to spell it out, or explain why I’m called that, or frequently both.”

“Oh, I understand!” The assistant smiled at finding a kindred spirit. “You see, my parents called me Cassandra. It means either prophetess of doom, or ‘helper of men’, depending on your viewpoint and what day of the week it is. That’s why I call myself Cass. It stops all those questions. But I don’t suppose you can shorten Merlin, really…”

She tailed off, looking even more embarrassed. She really was quite pretty. Merlin shifted from foot to foot, thinking that the shop was suddenly rather warm, because he could feel his cheeks turning red.

“Well,” continued Cass, tucking one escaping blonde curl back behind her ear. “I’m so, so sorry. I can order it for you now – well, at least, once I’ve got the laptop to behave itself – and it will be here on Monday. If you’re local, I can drop it off at your house?”

Hmmm yes, that was the crux of the problem. Aside from the issue with his name, he was currently of no fixed abode. At least, he had an address, in London, but that was more for storage, and he visited it infrequently. So he sighed internally and thought he might rent a small but secluded cottage nearby for a couple of days, just to wait it out until the book was ready for collection.

“You don’t have to do that,” Merlin told the assistant. Lying through gritted teeth, he continued: “I was planning on staying here for a long weekend, so I can pick up the book when I leave. Do you know anywhere that’s cheap but comfortable where I can stay?”

“Well, there’s The Shepherd’s Staff,” mused Cass. “It’s a pub, but it’s got rooms. I was just about to shut up shop and go there now actually, to meet a friend. So I can show you where it is. And I feel like I should buy you a drink, just by way of apology.”

“You really don’t need to…” began Merlin.

“Oh, but I do,” smiled Cass. She didn’t need to – she wanted to.


	2. The Shepherd's Staff

Once ~~Merlin had decided enough was enough and used magic to fix the computer~~ Cass had cajoled the computer into rebooting and ordered Merlin the book on runes, she closed the shop and they wandered down the darkening lane to The Shepherd’s Staff. Like a lot of English country villages, there was one pub, and a lot of villagers converging on that pub. So Merlin was undecided whether he wanted to stay there tonight – it wasn’t really his kind of place. Too many people asking him too many questions.

The bar was warm and cheerful though, and he didn’t get many inquisitive looks as he and Cass perched themselves on the edge of two bar stools.

“Hi Sam!” said Cass, as the barman came to take their order. “Mine’s a G&T as always, and… Merlin – what will you be having?”

“Just soda water with ice, please.” He’d tried alcohol, and found it wasn’t to his liking. It left him acting reckless and less likely to be circumspect about his magic. He took some time to glance about the bar – the usual locals, propping themselves up on the bar stools, plus groups of suspiciously young-looking patrons eager to down their first beer.

He and Cass were collecting their drinks and deciding where to sit, when a tall man approached them and gruffly asked Sam to pour him four pints of mild. “Hi, Cass,” he nodded. He had biceps that needed their own Ordnance Survey map to plot the contours and altitude.

“Oh, hi Percy! This is my new friend, Merlin,” Cass gestured towards her guest.

“You’re kidding… Merlin?” Percy guffawed. “That is the funniest… I’ve got to tell the lads.” And without waiting for his drinks or another word, he went and whispered to the group that he was drinking with. They all immediately burst out laughing and looked over in the direction of the bar.

One of Percy’s friends stood up and strode over, extending his hand confidently in greeting. “Hello, I’m Artie. My friend was just telling me that your name’s Merlin. You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. Not kidding. It’s actually my name. It’s written on my passport and everything,” Merlin replied. He’d been in this situation so many times, and seen a whole spectrum of incredulous looks.

“Well, Mer-lin. Pleased to meet you, I guess. I’ll have to buy you a drink later,” smiled Artie, and without asking, he reached in between Merlin and Cass, and scooped up two pintfuls of ale to take back to his table, Percy having picked up the other two.

“I’m sorry…” began Cass as they both watched Artie's retreating back, then giggled. She hadn’t stopped apologising to Merlin ever since they’d met. “Artie and Percy – they’re just lads, really. They mean well. Artie especially. He’s actually quite noble at heart. He just hides it under a whole heap of buffoonery. He’s kind of growing into himself, if you know what I mean.”

“A bit of a gang, are they?” asked Merlin, eyeing the gaggle at Artie’s table nervously.

“Not a gang – more like a weird medieval brotherhood. They do everything together: they won’t be separated. Artie, Percy, Leon, Lance and… actually, I don’t know where Gavin is. He might be on a date. He’s a bit of a lady’s man.”

Cass looked down as her phone buzzed, and picked up a call. “Yes. Uh hum. We’re in the back bar. I’ve brought a new friend along. Yes. Uh hum. You’ll like him.” She was comically unaware that she was saying all this while Merlin was standing right next to her.

Five seconds later, the bar door swung open, and in walked a slight girl, her long dark hair hung about her face as if to try and obscure herself from view. Her eyes darted about nervously until she saw Cass, and smiled.

Cass gave her friend a hug, and then said: “You’ll never believe it. There really is a Merlin. And here he is! Merlin – this is my friend Freya. Freya – meet Merlin.”

Freya offered her hand shyly to Merlin, and suddenly abashed, he took it to shake. Her palm was cold, and he wanted to hold on and transfer all the heat from his fingers into hers. “Nice to meet you. Cass told me about the book order yesterday. She really didn’t think you existed.”

“I get it all the time,” said Merlin, sadly now.

“Not with me,” whispered Freya, leaning in close. “I never doubted it. And I’d never laugh: it’s quite rude to laugh at someone’s name.”

Merlin liked her more and more with each minute that passed. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, please,” replied Freya, depositing her bag on the bar stool. “I’ve been out in the cold for a while, so something like a cup of tea.”

“Can’t I tempt you to anything stronger? A whiskey maybe? That would warm you up just as well,” smiled Merlin.

“No, really, I shouldn’t. You see, I tried drinking, and it turned me quite wild. I’ve found it’s best not to let that side of me out. Do you know what I’m saying?” Freya turned to him expectantly.

I do, I really do, thought Merlin. Fortunately at that very moment, Cass decided to go and lean over Artie and ask him something important. Merlin was glad. Out of all the people he’d met in this village, the one he most wanted to spend the evening with was standing right next to him. “Shall I find us a table?” suggested Freya. One had miraculously just come free in a secluded corner. Merlin ~~had used magic to make that particular miracle happen~~ was in no way responsible for that lucky coincidence.

Picking up Freya’s tea from the bar, Merlin asked Sam if there were any rooms free for the next couple of nights.

“There certainly are,” laughed Sam. “And they’re everything you could want. Small, slightly damp and no-one to bother you.”

“Sounds perfect,” grinned Merlin, and he meant it.

“What name shall I book the room under?” asked Sam. Merlin noticed with interest that he had a runic tattoo on his wrist, peeking out from under the cuff of his shirt.

“Merlin. M-E-R-L…”

“Oh, I know that,” said Sam, still smiling enigmatically. “I meant – that name; or your _real_ name?”

Merlin didn’t show his true reaction, but replied nonchalantly: “Either will do, Sam, either will do. Just so long as you don’t let the whole village know.”

Sam winked, and walked off to make the booking, leaving Merlin to spend the evening with Freya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't put Merlin/Freya relationship in the tags, or Freya in characters, because SPOILERS...


	3. The Morning After The Night Before

When Merlin woke up, the first thing that came into focus was the ceiling. Or rather, a particularly unattractive patch of damp on the ceiling. Sam hadn’t been joking when he said the bedrooms were both small and damp.

The next thing Merlin became aware of was someone snuffling and snoring gently beside him. He hadn’t… No… really?? His insides filled up with happiness at the thought that Frey… ahhh. Agggghhh.

For the hair obscuring the face on the pillow beside him was blonde and curly, and the figure lying next to him was Cass.

Merlin held his breath while he thought what to do, and decided the best course of action, in the present circumstances, was to go and hide in the bar until Cass woke up. A full English breakfast always set his mind straight. So he tiptoed quietly out of the room, the door making too strong a creeeaaak as he exited. He didn’t breathe again until he’d entered the lounge bar. Hearing a clink from behind the bar, a hyper-alert Merlin swiftly looked in that direction to find that Sam was standing there, in almost the same place he’d been the night before.

“Ah! Morning, Sam,” said Merlin, visibly brightening. He was glad to see a friendly face.

“Good morning, Emr… I mean, Mr Merlin,” winked Sam. “And how are you feeling today?”

Merlin considered his clanging head, his general state and the fact that Cass was still in his bed upstairs, and replied: “Not so great, Sam.”

“And no wonder!” smiled Sam. “Once Freya left, Artie was buying you all rounds until closing time, then Cass draped herself about you and dragged you off up those stairs like you were a puppy on a lead…”

“And then we had sss…” gulped Merlin. The night was coming back to him, in bits and pieces, then in a torrent of horrendous realisation.

“Ssss- shenanigans?” smirked Sam.

“Yes. Well, something like that,” shivered Merlin. He was glad he didn’t remember THAT much. But he’d been having such a good time with Freya, and now he’d gone and had… shenanigans… with one of her friends. He’d hope that no-one else would have noticed, but this was another thing he didn’t like about English villages. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. He was sure Freya would be hearing about it from the milkman, or the postman, right at that very moment.

“Well, there’s only one thing you can do in these circumstances,” advised Sam.

“What’s that?” asked Merlin, really, really hoping there was some amazing get-out clause. He’d travelled the world many times over, but that didn’t mean he was worldly.

“Have a full English breakfast and a cup of builder’s tea to fortify yourself,” laughed Sam. “And then go upstairs and make your excuses.”

“What shall I say?” asked Merlin, frankly terrified by the thought.

“Say that Artie’s gang has invited you to go paintballing,” was Sam’s wise advice.

“And did they?” wondered Merlin. There was more that he didn’t remember about last night. He’d said yes to paintballing? With Artie’s gang? And with this hangover from hell? He’d once out-galloped a group of stampeding bison on the plains of America, and the feeling of that chase was preferable to going paintballing.

“They certainly did,” confirmed Sam. “Percy’s picking you up at 10, so you’d better get your skates on.”

……………………

Cass woke not long after Merlin had crept out of the room, and was disappointed to see he had fled. However, it gave her time to compose herself. Wrapping the bedsheet about her, she went into the bathroom and surveyed her face in the mirror. She was sure the wrinkles were seeping back in… and was that a sag about her jaw? She held out her hands, surveying the backs of her palms. Liver spots had started to reappear.

She closed her eyes and concentrated with all her might, murmuring an incantation under her breath. When she re-opened them, she noted with grim satisfaction that the lines and age spots had disappeared. For now, that was. She needed to get Merlin back under her spell, and fast, before the charm broke.

……………………

When a sheepish, chastened Merlin entered the room, bearing a cup of coffee that Sam had thoughtfully made as a peace offering, Cass had sidled back into bed, and had adopted what she considered an alluring pose.

“I thought you’d gone and left me,” she spoke lightly, in what she hoped was a mischievous manner. She patted the pillow beside her, and whispered strange, indecipherable words under her breath. Oh Hades, how she hated having to act like this. Just one more night. Just one more night and you’ll have the sorcerer completely under your spell, she thought.

Merlin trembled, the cup he was holding in his hand shaking precariously. He suddenly didn’t remember why he’d wanted to leave Cass in the first place. She looked so lovely, lying there. If anything, she was even more beautiful than last night. Her hair was a blonde halo, her skin looked as smooth as silk. He struggled to remember what Sam had said to him as he’d left the bar. Something about Fre… ? No, he couldn’t recall. Entranced, he brought the cup over to the bedside, and bent down to kiss his love good morning.


	4. The Staff Comes In Handy

Merlin ached all over. And no, it wasn’t from 'more sss.. shenanigans?', as the shocked Sam had said, when Merlin had eventually come back downstairs, his hair mussed and a look of complete bliss on his face. It was the paintballing.

Whoever invented paintballing had their own special circle of Hell reserved for them, thought Merlin. Whoever believed that fun was running around the woods, decorating each other with little splats of brightly-coloured pain, might even be the Devil himself.

At least, that was Merlin’s opinion, but Artie and his friends thought otherwise, gleefully kitting themselves out in the forest hut while they traded banter. Merlin, as the newcomer, was the easy target, the boys finding it hilarious that he’d already been snagged by Cass.

“You’d better watch yourself,” said Artie, surprisingly thoughtful. “She was desperate to get her claws into you. And she’s only been here five minutes herself.”

“Really?” asked Merlin, his curiosity aroused. Whenever he tried to think of anything but Cass, he found himself dragged back into a golden glow of happiness that completely enveloped him. To be a moment without her was to be adrift.

“Yes,” said Lance. “She opened up Blackwood Books… about a month ago now? Everyone in the village thought it was a bit weird. It’s a bit of an out-of-the-way place to have a bookshop, you know?”

“Ummmm,” replied Merlin. He’d not got his paintballing overalls on yet. Just thinking of Cass made him languorous and dreamy.

“C’mon Merlin,” Percy’s grinning face suddenly appeared right in front of him. “Last one out gets shot at first. And I thought Gavin was the only one that got lovesick.”

“And Artie,” laughed Lance.

“Shut up, you lot,” Artie retorted. “Now are we going paintballing, or not?”

………………………

Merlin sank into a booth at The Shepherd’s Staff, wondering which bit of him hurt the most. He hadn’t tried to use magic – maybe that was why he’d been hit so many times. He wanted to curl up into a ball. He didn’t know what felt worse: the seemingly incurable hangover that still nagged at him, the multitude of paintball bruises, or the dim recollection that he was here to do something… but not being able to remember what.

And then _she_ walked into the room, and he got a burst of clarity, and remembered: this is why I’m still here, this is why…

“Merlin,” said a voice at his side. Cass had slid into the booth, having appeared out of nowhere. He looked over to the bar again. The girl with brown hair looked away, and he couldn’t recollect what he’d thought a moment ago. Something was very wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was as if he was watching a reflection of himself, doing all the wrong things, and everything was backwards and unreal.

When the same girl approached their booth, Cass smiled slightly, but her voice was made of steel: “Oh, hi Freya. I’m afraid there’s only room for two at this table. Artie’s over there though.” And she nodded pointedly towards the opposite corner. Freya looked momentarily hurt, and she glanced at Merlin quickly to wonder at his choice. But then she saw Cass’s hand creep over Merlin’s, and she slowly, dejectedly walked to the other part of the pub.

“Now I’ve got you all to myself,” said Cass in sugared tones. “Just how we like it.” There was one small part of Merlin that was shuddering, but a far greater part of him wanted to be with Cass, and her alone.

………………………

Later in the evening, Cass was standing at the bar, wondering what was taking Sam so long to serve her. He’d disappeared, ostensibly to “get some peanuts” and that was five minutes ago. Wherever he was, it wasn’t off getting peanuts. She glanced down at her hand. No, it couldn’t be… the effects were wearing off again. She looked towards the back of the bar, where a lustred mirror reflected her face. It wasn’t her face. Well, it was her face, her actual face, but not the face she wanted people to see. She murmured the incantation, twice this time, just to be sure. She would have to steal the sorcerer’s secret tonight; she had no more time to wait.

The only customers left now were her, Merlin and an increasingly merry Artie, who was regaling Merlin with his exploits and saying to him: “You’ll have to come an’ visit my house. You’ll like it. At least, the house’s alrigh’. My dad’s a bit strict, but he’s alrigh’ really.”

Merlin wasn’t really listening to the drunken Artie. There was something strange going on at the bar. Through the mist of his consciousness, he thought he’d seen Cass’s body bend and contort into all manner of twisted shapes, before reasserting itself into the luscious form that had entranced him so much. Returning to the table, Cass gasped and tipped forwards, spilling the drinks and almost knocking into Artie.

“Are you OK?” asked Merlin, leaping out of his chair in concern. He tried to take Cass’s hand, but it shrunk and sagged in his. Her breath was coming in deep gasps now as she hunched over the table. Then, she slowly gazed upwards.

“Whaa’ tha’…!” shouted Artie. Now it was his turn to stagger and fall.

Merlin had a sudden clarity about the situation.

“Sorcerer!” gasped Cass. “Give me your secret! I need the secret of immortality. I don’t have long. You love me, I know. You will do anything for your love, will you not?” She tried to sound appealing, but her voice had lowered almost an octave in the last minute, and her words came out as a low growl.

Merlin wasn’t in love with her. Not anymore. He was in love with Frey…

“Ahhh!” cried Cass, as she was dealt a heavy blow from behind. There stood Sam, looking both bemused and impressed at what he’d just done. In his hands was a heavy staff, the most unlikely of weapons. Merlin looked at Sam’s staff, at the collapsed figure of Cass, now heaped and wrinkled on the floor, and at the groaning, prone form of Artie. So much for being undercover. The whole village would know about this mess. Unless…

“Sam, is that staff enchanted?” he asked, standing tall now.

“This old thing?” said Sam, looking at the staff. “Well, no. It’s ancient oak, and it’s bloody heavy, but it’s not enchanted. It’s the shepherd’s staff. It’s what this place is named after.” But he handed the staff over to Merlin anyway. “You alright, Artie?” he continued, going over the shocked young man and giving him his hand to help him up.

Merlin knew what he had to do. The staff in his hand wasn’t just made of oak, it had a line of silver birch running all the way through it, from its base to the very top, and if he wasn’t mistaken…

Cass tried to raise herself up, and Merlin swung the staff, pointing it in her direction. “Béo síþ, drýicgan,” he commanded. Cass sank back into her pile of out-sized clothes, until there was nothing left of her but dust.

“Whaaa? What the hell just…?” gaped Artie, almost falling off the seat that Sam had just put him on. Merlin nodded to Sam and passed over the staff. A light tap on the head was all it took to knock out the dazed Artie, and a forgetfulness spell would do the rest.

“Well, better get this lot cleared up,” sighed Sam, the staff now hanging by his side. “I can’t leave it for the cleaners tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Sam,” said Merlin, genuinely grateful.

“I’m just sorry you didn’t get your book,” shrugged Sam. “I’m guessing it was all a trick, just to get you here. It wouldn’t surprise me if Blackwood Books has shut up shop permanently in the morning.”

Merlin smiled. He _was_ sorry about the made-up book, and having succumbed to the witch, and Artie having been hit over the head, and the whole mess. But he wasn’t sorry that he’d come here, because now that he’d regained his former clarity, he remembered why he wanted to stay. And the real reason had brown hair, and her name was Freya. He had a lot of explaining to do, but that fuzzy feeling he’d had over the last few days hadn’t left him. And it wasn’t an enchantment: it was real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's supposed to say 'Begone, witch' in Anglo-Saxon, but it might be a bit of a shaky translation...


End file.
